


Wrangling Jim

by AlyssiaInWonderland



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Caring Leonard "Bones" McCoy, Don’t copy to another site, Gen, Hurt Jim, Hurt/Comfort, Jim being a stubborn adorable idiot, Light Angst, Sick Jim, Sickfic, and Bones being worried
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-14 19:54:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16919355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlyssiaInWonderland/pseuds/AlyssiaInWonderland
Summary: Jim complains about a headache, but his vitals are fine so Bones dismisses it. As the day goes on, Jim deteriorates, but he's decided that he's got to keep going, and collapses.Some good old-fashioned hurt!Jim and worried!Bones, for a prompt! <3





	Wrangling Jim

**Author's Note:**

> For a Tumblr prompt of the following: 
> 
> kirk being whiney about having a headache or not feeling well or whatever and bones being like "well suck it up your vitals are fine" but then secretly like. rechecking them every hour and becoming more like ":| okay maybe you were right, you actually don't look great" but by that time Kirk's in "suck it up" mode and cannot be convinced otherwise until he collapses

When wrangling Jim Kirk, there are several important factors to bear in mind.

The first is that Jim absolutely loves to complain. Got rained on? Cue a rant about how it’s impossible to handle damp clothing. Strained finger pressing a button too hard? He’ll milk it for hours, pout prettily until someone opens doors for him or tells him to stop being a jerk. It’s just part of how Jim operates - expressing his every feeling about the small things, because the second thing to bear in mind is - 

The kid never mentions the big stuff. Panic attack? He’ll say he’s fine even when he’s shaking. Stab wound? He’ll let himself bleed out on the floor before he takes up medical attention that could go to his crew instead. It’s another part of him that makes him who he is - a bright, shooting star of a Captain that will burn himself up to light others’ ways.

Bones carefully doesn’t examine the whys of it, because he’s sure Jim will tell him when he’s ready. He’s already got access to the sealed medical files, which Jim gave him with a brittle grin and a shrug, which in turn made Bones vow to never look unless it proved utterly necessary. He thinks that maybe his lack of prying questions helped their budding friendship just as much as their mutual isolation and sharing his flask of whiskey on that shuttle to the Academy.

So with all this in its context, Bones doesn’t think much of it when Jim sits heavily in the chair opposite him at breakfast, and lets out a deep sigh.

He doesn’t want to bite at the obvious bait, he likes to think he has some level of restraint, but Jim starts shifting his porridge around in his bowl and taking sips of water that are so tiny as to be negligible, and he’s not a saint.

“The hell’s wrong with you this mornin’, kiddo?” Bones typically experiences what Spock calls a 33.67% raise in his gruffness in the mornings, and it’s showing today (no matter how often Bones rips into Spock to interrogate how exactly he got an objective measurement unit for ‘gruffness’ if he’s so unemotional).

Jim shifts in his seat, refusing to look at him, and that’s never a good sign.

“I have a headache, Bones!” The words burst out of him like his question opened a dam. He sounds like a whiny kid, not a starship Captain, and Bones rolls his eyes. If Jim’s able to complain about it, it’s the small stuff, for sure. “My head hurts, and I’ve been trying to drink more water - see, no coffee this morning even - but my throat won’t let me swallow the water, and I don’t want porridge or anything, and the lights are way brighter than they should be in the morning, don’t you think?”

“Jim!” Bones cuts off the tirade. “Let me - just hold still for a moment, will you? If you’re in pain you shouldn’t be wrigglin’ around like a goddamn eel anyway!” He’s got his scanner out already, and he has to hide his sigh of relief. “Dammit, kid. Your vitals are just fine. Drink some water and get onto the bridge, you hear me? Y’ain’t allowed to skive off, Jim. You signed off that right when you went command track like the fool you are.” Bones smirks, and Jim frowns, lips forming a sulky pout that should not look as adorable as it does on a fully grown man.

“Fine. But it hurts! I want that on record.” His tone is petulant, but he drags himself out of his chair, and his movements don’t seem that sluggish. What slowness there is could easily just be a rough morning - he makes a mental note to check on the alcohol stores. He’s a hypocrite about that, sometimes, but it’s not him who has to be in charge of an entire ship before dawn.

* * *

 

Despite his conclusion at breakfast, Bones can’t help that nagging feeling of doubt in his mind.

Ever since they met, the kid’s been worrying Bones out of house and home. If he’s honest with himself, it’s gotten far worse since what he privately refers to as the “Barely Dead” incident, and even more privately as “A New Level Of Hell”.

So he scrapes himself up off his desk in Medbay, and meanders over to the bridge, stopping twice to variously stop a cadet getting electrocuted while executing a lift repair, and to treat homesickness with an extra chocolate ration and a called in favour for a spare vid-call.

By the time he arrives, the shift is in full swing. For a while, Spock would question his entrance every time, and Sulu and Chekov would eye him curiously while Nyota raised an eyebrow - a habit he would swear to his grave she picked up off Spock himself. Now, his flitting in and out of the bridge is almost background noise. So he’s not exactly expecting Jim to make a big deal out of it. But, he admits, he was hoping for slightly more acknowledgement than simply nothing. 

He rests a hand on Jim’s shoulder and feels him jerk in surprise. Jim twists in his seat, stares at him for a moment before relaxing and smiling.

“Bones! You crept up on me. Give me some warning next time, will you?”

“Sorry Jim, I thought the sound of the lift arriving would be enough for you.” Bones says, dryly. “Any new and exciting ways for us to die yet, then?”

  
“Not yet.” Jim doesn’t seem as amused as he normally would be, though Bones is gratified to see that Spock looks somewhat nettled by the implications of his cynicism.

“Well, don’t let me stop you from boldly going, I’m just here to keep y’all alive after you get into trouble.” He grumbles on autopilot, and scans Jim again. His vitals are a little off, and he frowns. “You still feelin’ rough, Jim?”

“Nah, Bones. I’m fine. Just a bit of a headache. Can’t skive off, you know!” Jim pats Bones’ arm bracingly, and manages a grin that’s almost entirely convincing.

Bones shrugs. He wanders around for a few minutes longer, and then heads back to Meday, the lift doors snicking shut behind him.

* * *

 

It’s over halfway through the day - or what counts for it on a starship - and Jim hasn’t checked in for lunch. Normally he’d put it down to Jim forgetting because he’s busy vibrating from all the coffee he drinks, but he’s checked in on his diet card and the kid has had nothing but water since breakfast.

This time, he walks a little faster up to the bridge. He does, however, stop once, because some idiot decided a flame wouldn’t be too hot to touch if he wet his hands first, and Bones isn’t cruel, no matter what the people whose bones he’s set say.

Only Nyota bothers to look up and nod at him when he enters. It’s one of the many reasons she might be his favourite person - excluding Joanna, of course. Maybe Jim too, but there’s no need to make the kid’s ego any bigger, or he’ll stop fitting through doors.

He taps Jim on the shoulder, and this time he gets a full body jump.

“Jesus, Bones! Would you quit sneaking up on me? You should wear a bell or something!”

“If you want to get me in a collar I’m gonna need more sweet-talkin’ than that, darlin’.” Bones drawls, because at this point he’s grown a dirty mind out of pure self-defence. 

The bridge ripples with amusement - and Bones is going to consciously choose to forget the fact that Chekov also laughed, because he calls Jim kid but Chekov is absolutely too tiny for him to be remotely comfortable knowing he knows the implications of collars. He’s going to pretend Chekov’s laughing because he thinks Bones is a cat, and that’s all there is to it.

Jim’s smile, though, is weak, not delighted like he’d thought it would be. And he’s got a thin sheen of sweat over his temples, his eyes not seeming to focus quite so easily. His lips look a little too dry, too, and Bones scans him, his eyes narrowing in concern.

“Jim, your vitals are dipping a fair bit now. You sure you don’t need a break?”

“I’m fine, Bones. Probably caffeine withdrawal or something. I’m not quitting!”

“I ain’t saying you are, Jim. I’m just sayin’ that as your Doctor, I’d recommend you get some rest. You were right at breakfast, Jim, you’re not feelin’ right.” Bones offers an olive branch, because if he doesn’t he’s going to get mad, and that’s probably the last thing the kid needs right now.

“I said I’m fine.” Jim’s hands grip the arms of the chair hard enough his knuckles go white and the edges. “Dismissed, Doctor.”

Bones beats a tactical retreat, before he’s the one who ends up needing a Doctor. Best let him sweat it out until he decides to slink into Medbay and request that bedrest.

* * *

 

He’s had a steady stream of the usual - a couple of colds, lots of bruises and one quite impressive fractured wrist - and it’s near the end of the shift before he realises Jim still hasn’t come back. He’s just searching for a plaster to cover a disinfected cut from some glass in a science lab when his comm beeps.

“Dr McCoy, we need you on the bridge. The Captain has collapsed.”   
  
“Dammit!” Bones swears under his breath, and practically flies out of his chair. He grabs the nearest handful of plasters - all pink with cats on them, because he let Joanna pick out the pattern on the replicator - and shoves it at the worried-looking ensign, dashing out the door with his emergency kit in hand. He pauses at the door.

“Christine can handle you. Don’t. Move.” He hisses, and the ensign nods. Bones isn’t sure if the ensign is scared of him of Christine, but either way it seems a fair enough assessment.

This time, everyone looks up when he enters the bridge, and he decides there and then that he’d prefer it if they weren’t all waiting on him, for all that being ignored was irritating. Better to be part of the furniture than be needed, after all.

Jim’s on the ground, in the recovery position because Nyota is an absolute angel, while Sulu is consoling a terrified Chekov, and Spock is doing the necessary but infuriatingly cold task of keeping the ship running through the crisis.

“What happened?” He asks, scanning and confirming that Jim’s vitals have spiralled since the afternoon.

“He was getting distracted, and he hasn’t had lunch. He started complaining that it was too hot, and then he was shivering, and then he just...tried to stand up and fell, and wouldn’t get back up.” Nyota fills him in with practised calm, which Bones appreciates.

“Alright. Let’s get him to Medbay. Y’all carry on, now.” He’s fairly sure this is just exhaustion, hypoglycaemia and possibly a migraine - he recalls Jim’s hatred of the bright lights and lack of appetite from the morning with a mental curse.

Nyota helps him lift Jim up, not complaining a bit, despite the fact Jim’s practically a dead weight in his arms - and he refuses to have just thought about the words ‘dead’ and ‘Jim’ in the same sentence, instead shouldering his weight and leading them into the lift. They’re met at the other end by one of Christine’s nurses, who helps them into a curtained-off section of Medbay while Nyota heads back up to the bridge.

Jim falls onto the bed without a second of hesitation, and Bones hates that the kid is so far gone he’s not even being stubborn anymore.

He rummages through his kit, deftly composing the hypos needed. One for pain, one for nutrients and one for getting him some goddamn rest - for once in his life.

“Bones...Bones, I should be working…” Jim’s voice is thready and slurred. He clutches weakly at Bones’ arm as he leans over to move Jim’s shirt out of the way of the needles.

“C’mon, Jim, you’re ill. Let me treat you, will you?” Bones is careful to make the hypos gentle, but Jim still flinches.

“Bones, it hurts! Said it hurts before...but...don’t wanna skive off...gotta...gotta be a good Captain…” His worlds are spacing out as the hypos take effect, and Bones can’t quite resist soothing him through it, brushing his damp hair aside from his pale face gently.

“Shh, s’alright, Jim. You’re done for the day. You did good, kid. It’s rest time now.”   
  
“Really?” Jim sounds so young it’s almost heartbreaking. “S’good. Wasn’t feeling...so good…”

He can’t even ask why Jim didn’t tell him, because this time he did. So instead Bones sighs, and rolls his eyes.

“You don’t gotta kill yourself to prove you’re worthy of being Captain, Jim. We all know that already.”

“Thanks, Bones.” Jim murmurs, sleepily.

“It’s nothin’, kiddo.” Bones will always deny any and all accusations that he smiled tenderly while saying it. He flicks off the dim lights, and heads back out to his office and a well-earned glass of sweet tea.

Turns out, Jim will talk about the big stuff. But only with people he trusts.

Apparently, he trusts Bones.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoy!!! <3
> 
> As ever comments and kudos feed my dark soul!!!


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